


Literary Symmetry

by Wings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 21:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wings/pseuds/Wings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Literary symmetry isn’t necessarily part of life’s repertoire and just because his brother has Lucifer riding his brain like it’s fucking PlayLand, doesn’t mean he needs his own angel in the backseat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Literary Symmetry

It starts out as just a voice, low and quiet at the back of his mind; enough so that he can dismiss it as a lingering memory. Something he grew so used to that it’s taking longer than it should for him to let go of this one last thing. Well, maybe not the last thing. He still has the trench coat, folded up and tucked away in the trunk of the impala. He’s taken to pulling it out now, holding it in his fists when life turns bleak again and Sam’s arguing with the Devil in the sitting room. In hindsight, indulging his nostalgia, even for simple comfort’s sake, probably wasn’t a good idea. Or, alternatively, it was a great idea. It’s all in the perspective.

When he starts catching flashes of movement in the corner of his eye he tries to ignore it as much as he can. A difficult feat when it could turn out to actually be one of the blood-thirsty creeps he needs to kill rather than his lost friend leaving the confines of passed memories. But he tries. He draws on that stubborn-as-fuck streak that got them through the Apocalypse and pushes on. He starts up conversations with Bobby and Sam and ignores the occasional deadpan replies that come from just over his shoulder. Literary symmetry isn’t necessarily part of life’s repertoire and just because his brother has Lucifer riding his brain like it’s fucking PlayLand, doesn’t mean he needs his own angel in the backseat. Not this way.

Unsurprisingly, that can only last so long. He’s on the couch when he breaks, halfway through his second beer, not drunk but not quite even either. Castiel is there all of a sudden, materializing only about five feet away, looking the same as ever, minus the trench coat. Some part of Dean’s mind muses how much easier this would be if his hallucinations were human because then the popping up out of thin air would be a dead give-away. This way he doesn’t even have an excuse to question it.

“Just leave me alone, Cas. Go be dead somewhere else.” Not the most intelligent line he’s ever come up with but he doesn’t need to justify himself to his own brain.

Castiel narrows his eyes at Dean like he’s being purposely difficult but otherwise doesn’t move. “I’m not dead, Dean.”

Somewhere beneath his ribs, Dean’s heart stutters but he drowns the feeling in a swig of beer. “Thanks for the reassurance,” he mutters sarcastically.

Castiel tilts his head to the side and that’s when Dean decides to stop looking. He doesn’t need to enable his hallucinations any more than he already has been lately, when the trench coat feels too empty beneath his hands or when Castiel’s voice is the only sound to mix with the hot water running over his back.

Dean’s hand gripped the arm of the couch and he doesn’t say anything.

“You never ask for anything for yourself, Dean,” Castiel says. “And you never expect anything. Why can’t you have this one thing?”

Dean grits his teeth. “You’re not real.”

“Which only means I’ll never leave.”

Dean’s gaze snaps up at that to find Castiel bent over him, eyes impossibly close and impossibly blue in the dim room. The ends of his hair are dripping softly, pond water tracing over the pale contours of his neck and under the collar of his shirt.

“I am yours, Dean.”

Castiel’s lips are cold against Dean’s. He kisses Castiel like he can, like this is how it should be, and with every second he feels himself falling further past the edge.


End file.
